


The Haunting of Riddle House

by Manu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Body Horror, Bugs & Insects, Gen, Haunted Houses, Horror, In a way, Unbeta'd, inktober prompts, personal fictober, shoehorned prompt tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 15:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16477979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manu/pseuds/Manu
Summary: Tom plays with his food.





	The Haunting of Riddle House

**Author's Note:**

> Personal "Fictober" challenge of taking [Inktober's prompts](https://twitter.com/inktober/status/1035886145173745664) and writing something short for each and posting them daily. Ships, fandoms and everything else will vary. Patently unbeta'd.
> 
> Day 16: angular
> 
> Happy Halloween!*

It stood on a hill overlooking the village, its windows large, letting its occupants gaze at their domain, its recently renovated roof and a façade meticulously maintained were the envy of many who had visited or passed by. Easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the Riddle House was a fine-looking manor, hospitable and, lately, bustling with activity.

Its green, velvety lawn had been constantly walked on all afternoon by house staff, contractors and various other visitors. Frank, the gardener, looked crossly at them all until the commotion had calmed down completely. He now looked at the house itself, that’s when he noticed, or thought he noticed… He dismissed it.

 

Mary Riddle, also crossed, barked orders at her maid, who hurried out and then back with a cup of hot, peppermint tea. She then sent her home.

The stress was getting to Mary, even though she was still thrilled at finally moving out of that small, suffocating place. She remembered the first time she had set foot in it, arm in arm with her dashing new fiancé. She had adored the classical décor, the spacious rooms, the air of magnificent opulence it radiated. Now it all felt old hat to her. She had come to despise every creak of the wood, every hard-to-close window, every antiquated coving and still-not-replaced old furniture that her husband was still foolishly attached to. These feelings only grew after having visited some of her friends’ second or third husbands’ homes. They were modern buildings, with the latest trends in décor and, most importantly: space, so much space.

The sale of the old house wasn’t even finalized yet but, after a well-placed comment here and there, Thomas had agreed to send the staff ahead for a quick move to the new, luxurious house they had purchased not half a week ago. It had come with a price of mounting stress for them but also, thankfully, some peace and quiet once only the most essential staff remained. She felt she could breathe again. The summer sun was still up, she sat down by the window. The cup of tea was halfway to her mouth when she also noticed it…

She dismissed it. She took a sip and a smile graced her lips right afterwards. Closing her eyes, she let the calming effects of the beverage begin to take hold. When she opened them, she let out a yelp of surprise: the room was completely dark.

She put down her tea and glued her face to the window, trying to look out. No stars, no moon, and no sounds nor movement. There was only darkness and cold, as if the house had been plucked out of the world, out of the universe altogether, and was floating in a dark void. She tried to open the window without success. She cursed at it.

An oil lamp now in hand, she adventured outside the room and into the cavernous long hallway, looking for her husband and son.

 

In his study, Thomas took no notice of the sudden, all-enveloping darkness outside. He kept muttering under his breath, furiously scribbling by a small lamp a letter to his accountant. The sly swindler was robbing him, he was sure of it. Then there were the greedy contractors inflating their quotes by coming up with outrageous new problems that needed more money to be thrown at. There was Mary endlessly going on and on about her friends’ houses, then never being happy with any of the prospective new homes they looked at, then pestering about the move. There was Tom still single, still jobless, still refusing to take part in the family business, still chasing less-and-less proper, suitable girls, still taking and taking and taking....

What he did notice, even through his swelling anger, was the sudden cold. He shivered. Then something wet and cold went down his back.

 

His son, Tom, was in his room, readying himself to go out with his latest conquest from out of town. A singular and deeply offensive white hair stared at him from the mirror, along with a miniscule wrinkle that had begun cracking the skin on the left side of his mouth. His dark eyes stared back with worry and fury. He decided to offset it all by wearing his finest clothes, and his most charming, handsome smile. The girl in question would’ve been hardly worth such effort before, but now…

He scoffed, and took a step back. Yes, that would more than do, he reassured himself looking at his full-body reflection. He’d ask her mother later. For now, the air of well-earned superiority returned to him, completing the desired effect. He stood taller.

His image in the mirror vanished when the darkness came.

He stood there a few seconds, nonplussed. A small noise came from behind him.

 

How long had she been walking in the dimly lit darkness? How long was this hallway? It had been such a lovely, warm day a second ago, so why was she shivering uncontrollably now? Surely, she should’ve reached her husband’s study by now? Had the doors always been that tall, that angular, that many of them? No sounds apart from her footsteps in the creaking wooden floor could be heard, even after she called out to her husband and son.

She reached the end of the hallway, a dark window peering into endless darkness was in front of her. Confused, she began to turn around when the light from the lamp met no wall to her left, but another long, dark hallway extending into infinity.

She followed it.

 

Thomas looked with disgust at the vile creature on the floor. The leech had exploded once it hit the floor, staining the carpet bright red. His first instinct had been to shout for someone to come clean the repulsive mess, but obviously, no one had come. No staff… Curse his wife. So now he just stared at it, disgust evolving somehow into fascination.

Crouched down now, he wondered where on earth the creature had possibly come from. His face was mere inches apart from the leech when he thought he saw it move. He moved closer to it.

It jumped.

 

His wardrobe door had rattled. Tom, lamp in hand, was in front of it now. His mouth was dry, his heart beating fast, hands cold as ice. He waited, feeling increasingly foolish. It was probably a rat. The house was falling apart, his mother had said so, so it wouldn’t be too surpri—It rattled again, harder this time. He took a step back.

Then he heard another sound coming from it: a sort of soft whimper, a muffled cry. Curiosity beat fear and he put his ear to the door. Yes, there it was. He pictured a small, wounded animal trapped in there. The whole wardrobe shook violently. He almost dropped the lamp. The crying was a bit louder now.

Leaving the lamp wisely to the side, he approached the wardrobe. He wasn’t a bloody coward. One hand firm on the door handle, he breathed deeply. He opened it. He screamed.

 

Seven times she had turned left, all right angles, she was sure of it. Seven turns, no stairs down, no stairs up. Seven turns, no way back to the room she had started in. Seven turns, all different, almost endless hallways all with windows on the same side and taller and taller doors on the other; doors  that she had ever seen in the house, leading to rooms that had no reason to be on that floor.

The house had no cellar, and yet she was staring right at it. A cellar in the third floor. She had long given up on finding her family. She just wanted out. Her feet hurt, her chest was heaving, her light was dying and the wooden, old staircase going up at the other end of the impossible room promised freedom.

The cellar was damp, musty and the cold inside was nearly polar. She reached the other end much later than she had calculated she would. She had practically run towards it. The climb left her winded. The broken door at the top was open…

Open to the narrow hallway she had just been in. Tears of frustration and despair came to her. She turned back to face the broken door, but she found only a wall. To the right, there were no doors. To the left, the same: a wall that extended into forever.

 

The ceiling was a withering, dark mass of insects, leeches, and thin, black snakes. Some fell to the floor next to him. All went straight towards him as soon as they landed. Thomas Riddle was trapped in a corner. A pulsating, ever-growing leech firmly attached to his face, sucking blood, painfully. Another one fell on his head, two more on his neck and down his back. A snake slithered into his pantleg and up past his knee…

Huge, black moths and enormous flies descended on him, batting their wings next to his ears, drowning the sound of his own screams. Soon, with all that vermin now weighing him down, he fell to the floor. They stung and bit and suck on every inch of available skin.

He felt faint from terror, from lack of blood, from lack of oxygen; which is why he offered such little resistance when the mass of creatures made its way into him. Snakes went into his mouth, beetles crawled into his ears and nose, cockroaches lifted his eyelids, determined to join the rest of the party inside.

He let out one last scream.

 

Tom was on the floor, his eyes fixated on the thing crawling out of the wardrobe. Its little baby arms and hands inching it closer and closer to him. Its bulbous eyeless baby head with its small mouth was gaping at him. Its long, pink body slithered on the floor. An elongated human baby, at least four-foot-long, was making its way towards him.

“Ga… gda…” it growled.

He whimpered, crawling backwards, away from the monstrosity. The weakness in his limbs preventing him from getting up. His back met the legs of his desk. The door had to be close, had to be…

The leg moved.

He looked back, and up. Merope Gaunt stared at him. Her hair, still as lank and dull as ever, framed her face: a skull covered with the whitest, thinnest skin, dry and about to break. She was smiling with rotten teeth and bleeding lips. Smiling with that permanent cross-eyed look of hers, that adoring look that she reserved just for him.

“Da… ah…” the thing growled again, much closer.

He could hardly breathe, tears of terror were coming down hard. He recoiled when she crouched down—her old, white dress whispering horrid things when it moved—and touched his cheek with the back of her ice-cold hand.

“My dear Tom,” she said. “We’re here, darling.”

He cried loudly. She ignored it and kept smiling.

“Dada…” The thing was next to them now.

She scooped it up. The thing slithered around her, covering her shoulders like a pet snake. A pet snake made of human flesh.

“His first word!” she said, delighted. “Tom, come meet your son. Come meet Tommy.”

His heart was about to give out. He heard his own voice going “no, no, no, no…” He tried to get up while Merope was cooing at the monster that kept saying “Dada… dada…”

“My handsome Tom, so distinguished-looking now,” she said, coming closer now that he was barely standing up. “Grey hair does suit you marvelously.”

On instinct, that cut through the terror, he looked at the mirror. A decrepit old man looked back at him. Grey hair turning white at a dizzying speed, wrinkles cutting mercilessly through his skin that sprouted liver spots and hairy moles. The mirror looked back with eyes going cloudy, teeth turning yellow and rotten. He stood smaller and smaller.

She put his baby around his feeble shoulders. He screamed himself raw.

 

Mary had thrown herself through the window, into the black void, she had fallen and fallen for hours. Her throat was a pit of fire. Her limbs were frozen, her mind almost gone. The roaring wind getting louder and louder deafened her. She kept falling some more.

She landed on a hard, wooden floor. As soon as she recognized where she was, she began sobbing. Standing up now, she looked around the room where it all had started. She went to the window. By it, the tea was sitting still hot.

She heard screams and cries, her name being called. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the blackness outside was no more. A purple sky could be seen from the window. More screams reached her.

Despite every other instinct yelling her to stay put, she exited the room, towards the agonizing sounds.

No endless hallways, no misplaced rooms, no infinite doors and infinite walls. She reached the drawing room. Was that where she had…? The window was broken.

Her husband lay on the floor, sobbing and shaking. Her son, coiled into a ball on a sofa, was in a similar condition. She found herself crying as well.

The door at the other side of the room opened, and she saw her son walk in.

Thomas, standing up now and confused, saw the same thing.

Tom saw the horrible truth.

The window fixed itself.

The new arrival, their son, his son, the truth… He regarded them with revulsion for a second. They saw him point something at them.

“Avada Kedavra!” they heard him yell. A spectral green torrent of reckoning hurled towards them.

They were dead before their bodies could hit the floor.

The house stood silent, the beginning of many years of it to come. At least, until he came calling again.

**Author's Note:**

> *that tells you how "daily" I managed the posting to be.


End file.
